


A Change of Heart

by HepG2



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bottom Tony Stark, Hostage Situations, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt Tony Stark, Implied Relationships, Loki Does What He Wants, M/M, Mind Control, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rope Bondage, The Tesseract (Marvel), Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 09:35:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10087160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HepG2/pseuds/HepG2
Summary: Loki's search for the arc reactor brings him to Tony's workshop. The best negotiations require leverages. And his bargaining chip is Captain Rogers.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise for bad aftertastes in advance.

Between the first and second blink of his eyes, something _weird_ has happened. His arms are drawn above his head and pinned to the table, somehow. Insulated wires are knotted around his ankles on one end and to the table on the other. It’s a delightfully kinky position, one that he admittedly loves to bit. But how did he end up like this again? This usually comes after copious amount of alcohol and a gorgeous lap dance.

 

He has been sober for twenty-four days exact, so either today is his birthday and this is part of the celebration, or…

 

“Good evening, Mr Stark.”

 

He knows that drawl, haughty yet sophisticated in quality. A chill run down his spine as Loki Odinson slips into view. The same disgusting black hair, pale skin, blue eyes and shark-like grin. As he leans over Tony, the temperature drops even lower. It’s too vivid to be a dream.

 

“You can’t be here.”

 

“Why not? I _am_ here.” He sticks his long finger out and draws a circle over Tony’s forehead. “I am real.”

 

Tony wrestles in his bonds. This isn’t shoddy ropework. He can’t get loose.

 

“What do you want? Thor is in Asgard.”

 

“You assume I’m here for my brother?”

 

“Am I wrong?” Tony tugs at his arms again, every bit a futile ado. “I doubt money or fast cars interest you. But if you want, I have spares to share.”

 

It’s hard to repress a shudder when an alien-slash-god trail icy cool finger pads down his cheek and neck. It’s creepily intimate, and that’s not counting Loki’s breaths ghosting his hair. Breaths as cold as ice. As Loki sneaks past his throat and collarbone, a newfound dread sinks in his stomach.

 

“I want… this.” And he splays his palm over the arc reactor.

 

… Again?

 

For what could be the nth attempt of stealing his glowing McGuffin, Tony is prepared for all contingencies. Yank it out of its casing, and he’s got a spare in the safe. JARVIS has access to it, Dum-E can help deliver it to him. The rescue will be quick. It’ll be fine. Provided Loki doesn’t decide to relief his head from his shoulders after his cross-planetary thievery. “Well, this one is off limits. How about the Audi, the Bentley _and_ a paid-all manicure at the local –”

 

Icicles stab into his chest – either icicles or metal spikes, cold and merciless – piercing skin and flesh and blood spurts onto his shirt. Tony only registers the pain when Loki withdraws those protrusions from his five fingers, and that is when he’s certain that the risk of dying on his workbench is real. Drastic time calls for drastic measures. He pants as he quickly strategizes a quicker, _better_ exit plan. Loony Loki is _serious_ –

 

“Calm down, Stark.” Bloodied fingers prod his temple. With all manner of formality like he’s doing a sales pitch on a Monday morning, “I don’t have to waste precious time if I were to just… _pluck it_ from your chest. But I won’t.” This information doesn’t mollify Tony at all. “I know that it’s keeping you alive. And I’ll have _you_ know, I’m not here to kill you.”

 

It’s just a flesh wound. It’s not bleeding out. “I suppose that’s from the kindness of your heart?”

 

“… Because you might come in useful in the future, Stark.” Christ. The idea of crossing paths with Loki in the future is disheartening. “I think I’ll ask you nicely instead. How did you build the arc reactor?”

 

That’s rich. Tony rolls his eyes in disbelief. “While nursing a hangover, Jesus told me to solder a copper wire to a chicken egg, so I did.”

 

What is Loki going to use as leverage? Torture? Come on…

 

“Your unpredictability is inspiring. Maybe the good Captain will change your mind?”

 

Out of the shadows, a tall, built figure comes into the light. Steve’s blue eyes bore down on Tony, and Tony huffs eagerly, joy and glee coursing in every vein. Has Steve been there all along, biding his time? But there’s something needling about his stoic expression, like Steve doesn’t even recognise him, or understand the gravity of the situation at hand. Blue eyes that look too blue they’re almost luminescent.

 

“No, no, no,” Tony jerks desperately in his bonds. He knows that special effect too well. “Steve! Steve, no, wake up! You,” he twists his neck to snarl better at Loki. “What did you do to him?”

 

“It’s quite obvious, isn’t it?”

 

“Let him go. It’s me you want.”

 

“You superheroes make for interesting playthings, I have learned.” Loki slaps Steve across his cheek, and Tony pulls once more at the wires. Blood runs down Steve’s chin where his lips have split at the impact. “ _Baggage_. That’s what you’re all saddled with.” He strikes Steve once more, this time with enough force that Steve half-staggers with it. He remains docile, drawing himself upright to attention without so much as a glare. “I wonder if that hurts him or you more?”

 

“You sick son a bitch. Steve! Wake up!” With every struggle, blood clot peels off his chest and his shirt clings further to his flank. “Come _on_!”

 

“Scream all you want, Stark.” Loki flicks dirt from under his fingernail. “He can’t hear you.”

 

“JARVIS?” Tony’s voice is getting coarser by the minute. “Bruce? Nat? Please, somebody!”

 

“ _Nobody’s_ going to hear you.”

 

And Loki lets Tony scream and beg at the top of his lungs for a good minute – an hour, felt like one – and Tony only stops because he has no more strength in him to keep it up.

 

Nobody will come.

 

It’s just him and Loki and Steve.

 

“Steve, please,” his voice is but a whisper. “Wake up.”

 

“He can’t hear you. Like Barton couldn’t hear you.”

 

“No, this isn’t… somebody? Anybody!” His will and vigour renewed, he prepares himself for another barrage of yelling –

 

Stray, blonde hair flutter over his brows as Steve’s face drifts over his, so close that their noses are touching. Steve angles his chin to a side, and the kiss deepens – when has Steve started kissing him? Bloodied lips nurse his chapped ones, intense as it is wrong, and whenever Tony leans back into the table, Steve follows, his tongue lapping hungrily at Tony’s sealed mouth.

 

Loki wrenches Tony’s head into place by his hair. That almost de-scalps him – he gasps, and that same errant tongue infiltrates his mouth. Steve’s choking him – too much force, too sudden – and he coughs while Steve is still locked on him. Spit flies everywhere, and he hears Loki’s light chuckling from a distance.

 

“Why are you resisting, Stark? The Captain clearly isn’t.”

 

Loki’s pale hand wander over the front of Steve’s pants, the sight of which makes him sick to the guts. Steve’s subservience is so out of place, so _impossible_ – Loki gropes at the crotch, and even in the dimness of the workshop, there is no mistake in the tent under the denim.

 

That’s not Steve. That’s a psychotic space Viking messing with Steve’s free will –

 

“At least someone is enjoying himself.” Loki strokes Steve in mock sensuality, fingers closing over the rigid length, a casual caress from the base to the tip. Tony averts his eyes. His blood boils at the humiliation.

 

On Steve’s behalf.

 

“Does this not entertain you, Stark? I thought you two have a special thing for each other? Or am I grossly mistaken? That rarely happens, to be honest.” Tony clenches his teeth, and does not reply. “I’ll ask you once more. How do you build the arc reactor?”

 

Steve’s breath snags and Tony squeezes his eyes shut. He wills himself to be free of his bonds, to get his hands on Loki, beat the stuffing out of his alien form –

 

“Well, you leave me no choice.”

 

The workbench on which he’s strapped to quakes a little as Steve clambers over it – actually straddling Tony’s thighs by the time he’s fully on it. He looks down at his captive, eyes half-lidded, almost predatorial.

 

“Steve, you don’t want to be doing this.”

 

One hand traces the side of his neck, his jugular drumming against Steve’s palm. Then it closes suddenly over his throat, firm. It’s the first time he’s ever felt threatened by the might of a super soldier. There’s not a shred of recognition, or compassion in the hollow depths of Steve’s glowing eyes. He really might die by his friend’s hand.

 

Only, Steve’s not out for blood.

 

He takes out the buttons on Tony’s shirt until his naked torso is bared to all in attendance. The arc reactor shines gloriously in the dark despite flecks of dried blood over the bulb, and already Loki is slobbering over it.

 

Not too long ago he wondered what could be worse than Loki stealing his arc reactor. Too soon. This Steve is enthralled by the light, and Tony can’t help panting with fear. At long last, Steve leans in, he’s doing it, killing him – when Steve closes his mouth over a nipple.

 

“Stop –”

 

A thumb travels dangerously close to the catch of the arc reactor. Tony freezes, and Steve, emboldened by the lack of fight, drags his tongue across his sternum to the other nipple, smearing saliva and dried blood where he goes.

 

“How… odd.” Loki digs his knuckles under Steve’s chin, effectively drawing him up to a sit and proceed to claiming those lips with his. Steve reciprocates in earnest, and the slushing of their tongues against one another is all Tony hear, over the grinding of his molars as he blocks out the lewdness.

 

“I’ve learned aplenty while at Midguard, short as my pilgrimage was. Some of you criminalise this,” and he slips his hand under Steve’s shirt. At the first contact, Tony notes the subtle tick in Steve’s brow. Steve has always hated the cold. It’s like a private character trivia that he guards so stubbornly – Tony can relate – and Loki is _nothing but cold._ A quick shudder racks Steve’s body, but Loki mistakes it for sordid desire. His hand crawls up along Steve’s front to the base of his neck. Coaxing Steve to resume their kissing, his other hand drops, fondling the obvious erection. It’s not pretend, it’s not a charade – it’s arousing Loki and Steve both, and Tony feels tears of frustration beading in his eyes.

 

Finally breaking it off, Loki chuckles, “Lust and love. Why does it matter the gender of those partaking in mutual pleasure? It matters not in Asgard. Such primitive sentiment.” He clucks his tongue disapprovingly. “Or perhaps, it matters because your species isn’t _flexible_ in this regard. I am male, you would say, wouldn’t you? But that’s because I choose to present myself as such. Perhaps I’ll grace you with my other form next time? If only for my own amusement.”

 

Tony can’t believe he’s working up a frown as he digests Loki’s bullshit.

 

Then, there are zippers being pulled – _his ­_ – and somebody is palming his erection through his briefs. It’s warm to the touch. God, he’d rather it be Loki. The blaming game afterwards will be so much easier.

 

“Steve, please,” Tony chokes out as Steve frees his cock from his briefs. He tries to kick Steve away from him. “Fight it!”

 

“… I could bet Jotunheim’s royal gardens that you harboured desires for the Captain. This is a _gift,_ Stark. A gift foolish to deny.”

 

“Not like this, not like this!”

 

Callous fingers curl about his girth, at the base, around his balls. A mouth closes over the head, warm and moist. Every inch of him is flaring with Steve’s touches, and he shamelessly bucks his hip up, meeting Steve with vigour. So long, _so many days…_ he was just so caught up in work that guilt, so much guilt, isn’t enough to take away his needs.

 

“Steve, fucking _stop_ , please!”

 

“So stubborn.” Loki pats Tony over the curl of his hair, like a mother would to soothe her child. “Let’s say I’m wrong about you and the Captain. Either way, isn’t this something you enjoy? I’ve heard of your reputation.” He slinks back into the shadows. “Let me tell you what _I_ know. I know the fundamentals of the arc reactor are based on the Tesseract. I think there’s no harm in telling you that it’s the _Tesseract_ I’m after, and not your cheap knock-off copy of the Stone.”

 

“… Why?”

 

“For the very same reason SHIELD wanted it. But more so, because I’m curious. I wonder what is so special about your light that is able to negate the influence of the Mind Stone. How curious indeed.”

 

He’s close.

 

“Go… to hell.”

 

He folds into himself – as much as the wires holding him down allow him to – and drops back to the workbench, defeated and sullied. Steve is still sucking on him. Hypersensitivity encroaches, and he winces.

 

“Look, you sorry piece of shit” he gasps, “You want the arc reactor? Take it. I’ve a spare. Take it and go.”

 

“… Oh? Why the sudden obedience?”

 

“You can reverse engineer it, use it as it is, whatever. I don’t care. Just take it and _go._ ”

 

Loki _laughs_. Actually laughs, the kind that is so piercingly loud that it makes his insides churn. “Don’t take me for a fool, Stark. I know there are safeguards to protect your technology. There’s a reason I asked for the instructions, and not a working specimen.”

 

“… What’s that talk about not wanting to kill me again?”

 

The mirth in Loki’s features evaporates, and he snaps his fingers. Steve’s eyes glow bluer, and he reaches for a wire cutter.

 

Is this taking up torture to a next level? Cutting off his toes, now? Reattachment surgeries will make it OK again, no problem – no, hell, he can’t do this. Steve angles the blades to his ankle, and Tony starts screaming again –

 

Pin and needles attack his feet so violently that he wrenches his leg up –

 

He’s been freed.

 

Steve has freed him, cut the wires loose. Steve has regained his senses! “Steve, help, Loki –”

 

His back slams into the table as Steve holds him by the knees and shoves both legs up, folding him at the waist to near spine-breaking angle.

 

This should be over. Steve’s returned, hasn’t he?

 

“Don’t do this, you’re _better_ than this!”

 

“Ah,” Loki opens a drawer and ruffles through the content. “I believe this will help?” He tosses something over to Steve. It’s Tony’s new jar of Vaseline, the one he just opened while he did maintenance on You.

 

“Stop! You’ll regret this!”

 

Tony hasn’t been on the receiving end ever, but he knows the works. He knows that Steve hasn’t prepared him enough – doesn’t matter if it’s intentional or not – that’s not the best lubricant to use, that’s nearly not enough stretching and softening of his muscles.

 

“I don’t want this,” Tony pleads. He swings his heels against Steve’s back. “Don’t.”

 

He chews back every cry of agony as Steve penetrates him. It’s dry and full of friction, and there’s a lingering, burning sensation that keeps on building as Steve pounds heedlessly into him. Defiance is a worthless currency. He takes what Steve has to give – the torment and the shame.

 

“I like you better like this.” Loki brushes away a tear that has escaped the well of his eye. “Surrender. I can make it go away. Fix your nightmare. Fix your heart. Erase this night from your memories.” Wishes he would’ve given _anything_ to have fulfilled – once upon a time – what would Steve do unto himself if he knew? “Just tell me how to build the arc reactor.”

 

“Steve…”

 

It’s impossible. It feels like Steve’s growing larger inside him. There are pulses, Steve losing his rhythm –

 

One last thrust into him sends Steve over his edge. Hotness spurts in every way.

 

“It could’ve ended differently,” Loki hums from somewhere. And just like that, he’s gone like he’s never there in the first place.

 

The strange glow in Steve’s eyes dissolves away, replaced by a tight frown and multiple rapid blinking to chase the confusion. Tony lies motionlessly beneath Steve. He observes the swift switch of surprise when Steve notices he’s crouching over Tony, of concern when Steve notices blood splatter over both their chests, and of measured horror when he realises where his cock is. He throws himself off the table, off Tony so fast it hurts just as bad as when Steve was barrelling into him.

 

“Oh God, what have I done?”

 

More tears leak out of the corner of Tony’s eyes. “… Help me out?”

 

Each time Steve’s shaky fingers brush against his wrist, he flinches. There’s a perpetual look of terror plastered on Steve’s visage, that Tony can’t bear to look at even. The moment he pushes himself up on one elbow, his stomach roils and he vomits whatever’s left of dinner to the floor.

 

Steve’s silhouette flicker from the periphery. He inches closer, clearly wanting to help, because… that’s Steve. That’s who he is, and Tony scrabbles for the wire cutter that’s been left foolishly on the table.

 

“I swear to God, Steve.” He holds the cutter in both hands in front of him, like it’s the only thing that stands between himself and a world of hurt.

 

There’s wetness brimming in Steve’s eyes. He holds his hands up placatingly, careful to maintain his distance. They can’t undo this. Shirt torn and bloody, pants pooling by his calves. Body fluid everywhere.

 

He can’t forget this.

 

Just like he thought, isn’t it? The blaming after the ordeal would’ve been so much easier if it had been just Loki.


End file.
